Jess and the Runaway Grandpa

by Mary Woodbury

  “Of course you do. Your dad was my son’s best friend. Your dad and my son went away. Are they dead, like the Olnichuk boy?”

  “No, they aren’t dead. My dad lives in Ontario. Your son David works in Rome. He’s a famous fish scientist.” Jess bit her lip, keeping the frustration out of her words.

  “I know that. Might as well be dead, all of them. I probably wouldn’t know them if I saw them.”

  Jess blinked as the van went over a ridge in the gravel road left by the grader. “That must be hard.”

  “There’s another boy, a dark boy with fuzzy hair and a big chin. He’s good at math and drawing. Is he dead, too?”

  “That’s Brian Dille. He’s alive. He used to come with us. He used to be our friend.” Jess gripped her knees as Ernie steered back and forth over the ridge on the road. “He calls you names,” Jess whispered. “I don’t call you names. I won’t leave you.”

  “Aren’t friends forever?”

  “Not Brian. He’s a clown. He’s a nincompoop.”

  “Children are so unforgiving.”

  “He laughs at the way I throw a ball. He laughs at you.”

  “That’s not very friendly.” Ernie peered through the windows, looking for something. “The Olnichuk boy was pale as moonlight when they brought him out of the water. He looked like he was sleeping peacefully. It’s all a jumble in my head, you know.”

  “Where are we going, Ernie?” Jess’s jaw hurt from keeping her teeth from chattering. “Ruth and my mom are going to worry.”

  “Keep your eye on the tower,” Ernie said, ignoring her. “As long as we can spot the tower, we aren’t far from the river or the school. My first school. It’s where I started out.” The old man sighed and smiled slightly. The first smile Jess had seen in weeks.

  The road turned sharply to the right and then to the left. “I don’t see it yet.” There was a pause as Ernie slowed the van down and peered through the windscreen. “Have they pulled it down? Watch for a little spruce tree. I planted it in front of the school. It was lonely at night after the children had gone home, but I loved it. The silence, the sound of the rushing water. I used to walk to the river after I had finished teaching the kids on a warm June day. A river is a wonderful thing. It reminds us that life is a flow, it races ahead of us. Sitting beside it all the stress of teaching would drain away. I’d fish, catch my dinner. I made $800 the second year, lived in the teacherage. Life is a circle game, a carousel, and I can’t find where I got on or where to get off.”

  “How did you get to town, Ernie? Did you have a car, one of those funny old cars you see in movies?”

  “Sometimes I had a car. Sometimes I went by river and Ruth would drive me home, my canoe tossed in the back of her dad’s pickup. It’s much shorter by river.”

  “Wasn’t it dangerous, alone on the Athabasca in a canoe?” Jess shuddered, thinking about the ancient river running by the steep wild banks she had spotted as the camper crossed the bridge. “Rivers scare me. I have nightmares.”

  “I thought the young liked a little danger in their lives.”

  “That’s what you think. I don’t like danger, Ernie. I don’t like it at all.”

  “So why did you come then?” He gave her a withering glance.

  Jess kept the tears from falling by staring out the window. She wished Ernie couldn’t hurt her by saying mean things, by looking at her in cruel ways. It was hard to remember that he wasn’t himself. Where had nice, friendly Grandpa Ernie gone?

  The van crawled along the road at a snail’s pace. Jess sighed and joined Ernie in his search for the old schoolhouse. Maybe all he wanted was to drive out here and see where he had started teaching. Maybe he would be all right. Seeing the familiar landscape had calmed him down. She liked it when he talked about what life was like a long time ago. She missed that part of him so much. It made her want to cry, listening to him now, wondering how many more good conversations they would have.

  “This would be a good place to die.” Ernie sighed.

  Each word landed like a hammer blow on Jess’s heart.

  Chapter 9 – The Old School

  “Wait! Ernie, look through the trees,” Jess tugged his arm. He jammed his foot on the brake. She could see a broken-down log building with a wall of small-paned windows, hidden behind a screen of spindly young poplars and a big spruce. The black shingled roof sagged. One corner of the blackened log wall had crumbled. Several windows were broken, and jagged fragments of glass reflected scant light. Moss covered the lower logs.

  “ ‘Let me live in my house by the side of the road and be a friend to man,’ ” Ernie recited as he clambered over a sagging fence and strode through the waist-high bushes that overgrew the track to the school. Jess followed at a distance. He stopped and stared at a large spruce tree just to the right of the door to the schoolhouse. “That can’t be the small tree I planted.”

  The old man’s eyes had taken on a wild, worried look. Jess wanted to tell him it was all right. But was it?

  Ernie ran his hand along the door frame, pushed open the wood slatted door. It squeaked. His eyes, when he looked back at her, had grown large and dark. The school smelled of mildew and rotting wood. Two ancient desks leaned against the wall, their inkwells dark and empty black holes. The dusty blackboard had a hole the size of a fist. There was no chalk. A rusted potbellied stove sat in the corner and neat rows of dried mushrooms filled the closet. Some chipmunk or squirrel family had forgotten where they had stored their winter food supply.

  Jess wanted to ask questions, but something blocked her throat, wouldn’t let her speak. Would he answer or glare at her? In the silence the building seemed to breathe. Jess wanted to ask – When did you close? How many kids studied here? What was Ernie like when he was young?

  “The piano was over in the corner. I taught the kids to sing songs. Life without singing is pretty dull and has no soul. Life without games and stories isn’t worth living. Life is about imagination, memory, and love. Now I can’t remember the stories, I’m forgetting the songs, and I don’t recognize the people I love.”

  Ernie turned on his heel and stumbled out of the school, picked up a pine cone from the base of the large tree, and hurried through the trampled bushes to the van. He started the engine.

  “Don’t you want to see the teacherage?” Jess hollered, running to catch up. “How long did you live here? Did Ruth live here with you?” She stood between the caragana hedge and the van, bent down, took off her second Midas stocking and draped it over a deadfall birch by her foot.

  The old man’s face was red, his eyes wild. He pointed through the trees to the smaller log building. “In my mind it’s so fresh and bright. It’s dying. I’ve seen enough. Have to get out of here.”

  Jess clambered into the passenger’s seat and buckled up quickly.

  Ernie jabbed his foot on the accelerator and sped down the road. “I can’t bear the thought of going into that place that woman wants me to visit.”

  “That woman is your wife, Ernie. And it’s a nice place.”

  “I can’t go back there. It frightens me.” The old man turned and looked at Jess. For a split second she saw the old Ernie staring out at her. “Don’t you see, Jess. I might wander away for good. I might never return. I can’t come back here either. I’m caught between my past and my future, and no one can help.” He threw the crumpled pine cone out the window.

  “Hang on!” he shouted. The motor roared. Billows of dust rose.

  “Oh, Ernie!” Tears gathered in Jess’s eyes, spilling over, running down her cheeks like small rivers. She felt Ernie’s pain as if it was her own, and it was black and angry and had no bottom. But she shouldn’t stay there long. It was too dangerous.

  He was driving too fast. She wished she could remember how her mom handled people. Naomi would know what to say. Jess gripped the dashboard so tightly her knuckles whitened.

  The dense pine and poplar woods crowded too close to the road. The last signs of civilization disappeared. T
here weren’t even fence posts or Rural Crime Watch signs. Deer tracks cut through the thick grasses and stunted willow. The sky darkened. A raven screamed. A flock of chickadees whirred across the road too close for comfort. Jess shut her eyes, afraid one of them would smash and die against the window.

  An overgrown cutline, where all the trees and brush had been cleared for gas or oil exploration, crossed at an angle. Tracks from all-terrain vehicles had flattened the early spring growth. Maybe they weren’t alone out here after all.

  Ernie swerved to miss two blackbirds feasting on a small bloody corpse. He made a sharp turn, leaving the gravel road, and turned towards the river far below. The van banged and jangled down a rutted track towards a high, steep bank above the Athabasca. The track turned from sand to slippery wet clay. The van threatened to bog down. The motor roared as Ernie pushed the pedal to the floor. The sharp smell of exhaust came through the open window.

  Jess clutched the vinyl seat. She cringed as low branches of trees and whole bushes struck the windshield, scraping the sides of the camper, as rocks and deadfall bumped and banged the bottom.

  “Stop, Ernie, you’ll kill us both!” she screamed. Ernie stared at her. Slowly, his eyes focused. It was like watching a light go on in a dark room.

  “Oh, no!” he shouted. “What am I doing?”

  Ernie slammed the brakes on. But it was too late. Ahead of them, Jess saw open sky behind the last trees before the river bank plunged down towards the water. The tires slipped in the gumbo by the ridge, the van sliding sideways on the slick clay. It reached the edge, pitched over, rolled on its side. The roof rack and storage topper broke free, tumbling away like a broken doll’s house. The van, released from its heavy burden, crashed through the trees and brush down, down, towards the rushing river.

  Young trees on the slope snapped off, small branches broke. The van’s body whined and groaned. The air filled with strident clanking noises.

  Jess hugged herself tight, dug her fingernails into the fleshy upper arms as the van flipped and righted itself again. There, they were traveling upright again, but at a dangerous tilt. She was wrenched forward, held only by her seat belt. They were going to roll, she knew it! Suddenly, there was a huge bang. The impact reverberated to her toes. The van came to a sudden halt. The motor died. The air stilled. The noise faded away.

  Through Ernie’s side window, the glass smashed into the shape of a giant spider’s web, Jess could see the giant elm tree that had stopped them from tumbling all the way down to the river. Ernie’s head leaned against the window. His eyes were closed, his face chalky, his hands loose in his lap. Blood spattered his shirt. Jess reached out her left hand timidly – noticed how it was shaking, noticed how pale she was, how chilled – and touched his veined right hand. It had fallen from the gear shift and hung by his side.

  Bright flashes of red and black ricocheted in her skull. She could trace the blood as it ran through her veins to her heart. She had a river rushing inside her, rushing to feed her brain, her heart. She was alive. Her heart pounded like a woodpecker hammering a tree. She stared at Ernie. Fear knotted her stomach, her hands trembled. Ernie’s skin was parchment soft, and warm. Anxiously she tugged his hand.

  “Ernie, wake up! Please.”

  She spotted a flutter of pulse in his neck. She gasped as if she’d been running a race and forced her eyes to study Ernie’s body. His back trembled and the cord in his neck throbbed. She could see no more blood, but his left foot and ankle were jammed under the brake pedal on the floor of the van and his head must be hurt where it was leaning against the window.

  Slowly but carefully, she undid her seat belt and moved each limb gingerly. Except for bloody gouges in her left palm where her fingernails had dug in, a cut on her chin, a scraped knee leaking blood onto her jeans, and a lot of aches and pains, she was all right. She took three deep breaths in a row. She pushed on the door but it wouldn’t budge. The handle was jammed. It wouldn’t turn, not even an inch. The window was halfway down. She struggled with the knob and slowly rolled the window the rest of the way, the glass moaning in its track. She crawled out and dropped to the ground. Her knees buckled and she collapsed. Damp air assailed her nostrils and made her sneeze. It was laden with the smell of blossoms, disturbed earth and plants, and the foreign odors of gas, oil, metal, and exhaust. The smell of leaking gas made her stomach lurch.

  The birds, stilled by the van’s thundering arrival, regained their courage. They sang lustily, scolding Jess. A small animal scurried through the brush.

  Jess pulled herself up, gripping the bumper and then the hood. The overheated engine made the metal hot to touch. She moved her hand to a birch broken by the van in passing. Its smooth bark was softer than skin. She leaned her whole body against the poor half-tree. She began to shake uncontrollably, her skin clammy, cold and hot at the same time. Her teeth chattered. He head throbbed. Jess slipped down and leaned her back against the tree trunk. Shudders and shakes flooded over her. At least she was alive. And Ernie, he’d wake up. He must have hit his head. She wished her mother was here. She wished Grandma Ruth was here. She was a nurse, she’d know what to do.

  Jess hugged her knees tightly, trying to stop the shaking, the sick feeling, the dizziness in her head.

  Don’t hurry, she told herself. First, collect your wits. Get your survival kit out and patch yourself up – the cuts were stinging and the blood soaking her jeans made her stomach feel squeamish. Get Ernie out of the van and make him as comfortable as possible. Then go for help.

  But ever since they’d left the old school there’d been nothing but bush. She tried to get her mind to concentrate, but part of it seemed to be shaking like her hands. Was this shock? The St. John’s Ambulance lady had told them at school about shock.

  Clawing the damp scarred earth, Jess pulled herself upright. He calves hurt as if she’d pedaled her bike uphill for hours. Everything around her was extra sharp and clear as if she had been given double sight, smell, and hearing. Everything she did seemed to be in slow motion. Under her feet the leaves and moss were slippery and smelled musty like Ruth’s compost bin. One hundred shades of green surrounded her. She slid down the bank to a small clearing where a deer had slept recently, the long grass trampled in a circle and crushed. Tiny white flowers sprinkled the area like stars. She glanced up towards the van crushed against the elm, its front bumper wrapped around a green poplar, the debris from the broken roof topper littering the wooded slope between her and the van. Here would be a good place to set up camp for Ernie.

  Ernie’s head raised. He was blinking. Jess scrambled up the rise and tried to wrench open the door on his side. It was jammed shut, blocked by the elm.

  “You’ll have to crawl out my side, Ernie.”

  “Eh?”

  Jess made her way around the front of the van to the passenger side and reached her hand through the open window. “Come on, Ernie, you can’t stay in there.”

  The old man rubbed the left side of his head where a goose egg was forming. “I seem to be having trouble, princess.”

  It took several minutes for Jess to tug Ernie from behind the wheel, free his foot from between the pedals on the floor. His body didn’t want to cooperate. It was stiff and wiry, didn’t want to bend. His skin smelled of blood, stale sweat, and fear. His once neat polyester trousers were all greasy. When she did get him through the window, he collapsed. His left ankle wouldn’t work and his left arm hung at his side.

  “Might be fire.” Ernie’s eyes opened wide with fright. “Spilled gas.” He tried to crawl away from the van, but his body wouldn’t work.

  Jess smelled the fumes. Thank goodness Ernie was conscious and thinking. She should have thought of that. She’d seen rescue programs on TV about vehicles catching fire. She grabbed Ernie’s good arm and wrapped it around her shoulder. Then she part slid, part walked him down the slope to the clearing. Her breath rasped like a dull saw in dry wood. She helped the old man sit down.

  Ernie leaned against a deadfa
ll elm stump and heaved a big sigh. “‘The best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft a-gley,’ Robert Burns said. A heck of a start to a fishing trip, eh?”

  “This is no time for poetry. I don’t know what you had in mind, Ernie, but we’re in deep trouble here.” She clambered to the van, rescued her sports bag, and hauled it to the clearing. She took a big Band-Aid, peeled the papers off, and covered the cut on Ernie’s head, dabbing at the blood on his shirt with a rag.

  “Where’s the field hospital, sergeant? Call the medics.”

  Jess plunked on the damp grass beside Ernie, took scissors and first aid supplies to her own injuries, biting her lip as she cut back the jeans from the sore knee where the blood-soaked fabric was sticking to her leg.

  “Not very good at that, are you, princess?”

  Jess winced and concentrated on finishing her work. She applied muscle ointment to her sore calves. The stupid old man had nearly gotten them killed and here he was criticizing her. Finished with her first aid work, she turned to Ernie with her face in a deep scowl much like her mom’s when Jess had been mouthy. The old man had dozed off. For crying out loud, Ernie had gone to sleep.

  Chapter 10 – Keep the Home Fires Burning

  A police car was parked in front of the Mather house when Brian and his dad pulled into the driveway. Brian ran up the back steps and into the kitchen. Jess’s mother was making coffee. Her usually smiling face was grim, her skin the colour of uncooked pastry.

  “Any news?” he asked.

  His dad came in behind him, strode over and took Naomi Baines in his arms. “We’ve come to help.”

  Jess’s mother sobbed into Sonny Dille’s wide shoulder. “Nobody knows where they’ve gone.”

  “I bet Ernie’s gone fishing. Jess would try to stop him” Brian said. He could remember back a few years when Ernie and Jess and he had been a team. “Ernie was happiest fishing.”

  “I wish it was that simple, Brian.” His dad gave him one of his go-away-kid looks and led Naomi over to the kitchen table.